


All the Dishes Rattle In the Cupboards When the Elephants Arrive

by out_there



Category: Doctor Who, Torchwood
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-05-08
Updated: 2008-05-08
Packaged: 2017-10-15 04:53:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/157224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/out_there/pseuds/out_there
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five ways Ianto Jones might meet the Doctor, in chronological order.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All the Dishes Rattle In the Cupboards When the Elephants Arrive

**Author's Note:**

> For [](http://in-the-bottle.livejournal.com/profile)[**in_the_bottle**](http://in-the-bottle.livejournal.com/) who encouraged this. Without her encouragement, this would have been nothing more than a vague idea still sitting in the back of my head. Skim-betaed so all faults are mine. Title comes from Cake’s awesome song, “Love You Madly”.
> 
> Not that it overly matters, but this was written with Ten in mind. (And written before we had Eleven.)

**The Value of a Free Meal**

The Weevil snarls, twisting away from Jack's hold, bounding down the alley, but Ianto has the spray in his hand. He sets his feet, braces his knees, counts down, "Five, four, three," as the pounding bulk rushes closer and then, "Two, one," as the Weevil is suddenly within arms-reach, and he sprays, lurching sideways and flinging out an arm around its neck.

Jack's there, holding onto the other side, arm around its shoulders, and then they're tugging the claws back, putting on the new cuffs and getting a canvas bag over its head. The Weevil settles, dropping to the ground.

Ianto's still panting – adrenalin, fear, the rush of it all -- when Jack looks sideways at him. Jack licks his lips, eyes glittering dangerously in the darkly lit alley. He stalks over, and Ianto takes a few steps back. Not to avoid the attention, not to object, but because Ianto wants his back against the wall, wants rough bricks holding him up when Jack pounces, mouth hot on Ianto's and hands urgently tugging at his belt.

Then there's a "hmph!" of someone clearing their throat. Ianto ignores it, but it's followed by an, "Um, Jack?"

Jack pulls back, breathing heavy and fast, glaring at the intruder in his dark suit and bright converse sneakers. Then Jack drops his head back, staring at the night sky. "You really have the worse timing imaginable," he mutters.

Jack steps back but keeps a hand on Ianto's back. It's affectionate. Reassuring. Possessive. It might be a bad sign that Jack feels the need to claim Ianto.

The stranger notices -- gives Jack's hand a quick glance -- then ignores it. "I was in the city for the night and thought I'd stop by. How was I to know you'd be protecting Cardiff through the application of your tongue?"

Jack roars with laughter -- mouth wide, head thrown back -- and Ianto relaxes. Jack wouldn't laugh if the stranger was a threat.

The stranger steps out of the shadows to show an angular, human-looking face with inquisitive brown eyes and a happy grin. "That's more like it," he says, then turning to Ianto adds, "That's Jack for you. No, wait, you already know Jack. It's me that doesn't know you. Or the other way around."

Ianto blinks, stalling. The sentence doesn't make much more sense the second time he thinks it through. So he says, "Ianto Jones, sir."

"Ah, okay, Ianto. With a Y?"

"With an I."

The stranger nods gravely. "Ianto with an I. I'll remember that. The I/Y thing can be very important."

Ianto looks to Jack for support or guidance, but Jack shakes his head once and watches their exchange carefully. "I don't have a great deal of trouble with it."

"Good, good." The stranger continues to Jack, "Now, Jack, as I was saying--"

"You didn't introduce yourself," Jack chides gently, full of fondness. "Ianto, this is the Doctor."

"The...?" Then Ianto remembers. Remembers Jack's wistful looks, his uncomfortable explanation when he returned. "Your Doctor?" he asks Jack pointedly.

At least Jack has the grace to look a little uncertain as he nods. Ianto tries not to be jealous and petty, but Jack's habit of flirting casually with all and sundry habit makes it difficult. There isn't anything casual here, not when Jack left everything to be with his Doctor only a few months ago.

"Why are you here, Doctor?" Ianto demands, aiming at polite and failing completely.

The Doctor all but ignores Ianto, talking solely to Jack. "What have you been telling them about me?"

Jack grins, naughty and so very tempting. "The truth."

"If you'd told them the truth they wouldn't start interrogating me on sight--"

"Doctor," Ianto interrupts firmly. The Doctor blinks, starting as if he'd forgotten Ianto entirely. "It was a simple question. I just want to know your intentions."

The Doctor frowns at him, like he's an annoying child. "I'm not going to take over the Earth. I'm not the herald of death and destruction."

Ianto resists the urge to step forward, to lay a hand on Jack. He's not forcing a decision, he just... needs to know. "I wanted to know your intentions towards Jack."

"Oh!" The Doctor steps closer, peering at Ianto and smiling. There's nothing vicious to his expression, no anger, just a bemused surprise. "Oh, he's quite sweet, Jack."

Jack's hand slips around Ianto's waist. "I think so."

Before Ianto can object or make demands, the Doctor says, "And to answer your question, young Ianto, I intend to bully Jack into taking me out for dinner. I don't tend to carry cash as a rule and there used to be this great little restaurant all in glass, down by the bay--"

"New owners," Jack says. "Food's not as good."

"I'm sure you could find somewhere else to take me." The Doctor stares at Jack until Jack grins and nods. "Anything would beat cooking. And the old girl's playing up a little, so I don't think I could find the kitchen if I tried."

"Last time I counted, there were three kitchens onboard," Jack says and Ianto listens carefully, even though he doesn't know what they're talking about. "You couldn't find one of them?"

"Even if I could find them, then I'd have to find food, which means I'd have to barter or buy. It's a lot easier to simply demand a meal from an old friend. Besides, it'll give us a chance to catch up." The Doctor gives Ianto a slow, approving nod. "You could bring your new boyfriend along too."

***

 **Things Your Mother Told You**

They wait until the fourth hour to call Martha.

Gwen sat with Jack for the first two hours, and then Ianto took the next two. Now Gwen's back down there so Ianto nods, leaves her in the medical bay and heads to his phone. Jack's condition hasn't changed.

He's still lying flat on his back, eyes open, staring at the ceiling, completely and utterly still. He's warm to the touch, skin soft and clearly alive, and Ianto can feel a sluggish beat to his pulse. But Jack's not breathing. With anyone else, Ianto would worry it would kill them. With Jack, Ianto worries that it hasn't killed him yet.

Jack hasn't died, hasn't come gasping back to life. He's just stayed still.

The alien device was the size of a 50p coin, small and bronze. It had flown up in the air when Jack touched it and then darted towards his neck. It's still there, attached above the vein. It doesn't blink, doesn't make any sound, and doesn't show as anything but a round, metal disc on all of their scans.

Ianto waits for five rings before Martha answers with a crisp, clear, "Martha Jones speaking."

"Good morning, Martha," he says, because politeness can be important. "It's Ianto Jones. From Torchwood Three."

On the other end of the line, she laughs. "You could have just said it's Ianto. I would have known who it was from the accent."

"You might know a lot of Welsh Iantos," he replies. "It's not the most unusual name and does tend to come with a Welsh accent."

"So what's up?"

"We need your help. We need UNIT's help." Ianto keeps his tone steady. "Jack's been immobilised by an alien device and we can't find anything on it."

"Is he okay?"

"He hasn't died," Ianto says, digging his fingernails into his palm to give himself something to focus on. "But with Jack, that's more of a concern. It's been four hours now and no changes."

"I'll send someone," Martha says.

"Martha, please." His voice goes distressingly high on the last syllable. Ianto digs his nails in tighter. "Come down here. We need you."

"I wouldn't know what to do. I mean, basic study? Sure. Alien technology that can stop Jack? Trust me..." She leaves a pause. Ianto wants her presence down here, wants the reassurance of having someone he knows loves Jack. Someone he knows Jack trusts with his life, with their lives, with the whole world. But trusting Martha means trusting her opinion. "The man I'm sending is brilliant. He'll know what to do. And he's close by, in a manner of speaking."

Ianto nods and tries to believe. "When should we expect him?"

"Give me ten minutes. I'll call you back."

"Thank you."

Martha hangs up, no goodbye, no nothing, and Ianto waits. He orders pizza (lunch should have been two hours ago) and heads up to the Tourist Office to wait. He brings up the Torchwood database again. Perhaps he could search for all references to a metallic disc. It's such a broad phrase that there are nearly two hundred results from the Alien Weapons section alone.

Ianto opens the first and starts reading.

A few minutes later, the phone rings. "Torchwood Three, Ianto Jones, how can I help?"

"It's Martha. Do I need to give full name and organisation?"

"How long?" Ianto asks. It might be rude but he needs to know.

"Give him a couple of minutes and he should be there," Martha says, just as a man in a long coat with messy brown hair steps into the Tourist Office.

"Couldn't give me a name or a description?" Ianto asks slowly.

The man says, "Um, yes, hi. Martha sent me. You can take me to Jack, right?"

On the other end of the line, Martha says, "That's him. Just remember, he's brilliant. Unorthodox, but brilliant. Call me later." Then she hangs up again.

"Very different from the London office," the man says, looking around. "They were all white walls and glass, as far above the city skyline as you could reach. And now we're back to stone and dripping walls and underground. Must be Wales. I really don't know which is more appropriate for a secret organisation."

It takes Ianto aback for a moment. Then he remembers that he does trust Martha. If she vouches for this guy, he must be good. "Follow me," he says and locks the tourist door, hanging up a cheery little closed sign. "Sorry, Martha didn't tell me your name."

"Oh, she wouldn't." The man scratches the back of his head, grinning like a schoolboy. "Don't put much stock in names, as a general rule. But you can call me John Smith."

Ianto nods at this and doesn't press any further. It sounds so outrageously false, so impossible to believe, that it could be his real name. "In that case, Mr Smith, Jack's downstairs."

"Oh, that's more like it!" Mr Smith says as he steps into the lift. "White and bright lights, the type of thing you lot enjoy." Then the door rolls back to reveal the Hub, and Mr Smith's face falls.

"Back to the wet old stones, huh? Well, guess it's a change. Got a bit of a dungeon feel though. I never did like dungeons. These days, people don't even keep real dungeons but back when they did, back when the shackles were new and the cobwebs had only started to form, they were still such dank places. No fun. Being damp all the time saps the will to live."

Ianto's spent five years with Jack now. The easiest way to deal with conversations that make no sense is to nod and let it pass.

Mr Smith lets out a long, low whistle, looking up. "Nice pterodactyl."

"Myfanwy," Ianto allows as she circles overhead. "It's her name."

"Guess you've got to name the mascot."

Ianto leads Mr Smith across the clunking floors, down the stairs to the medical bay. Gwen's sitting beside Jack, his hand in hers, head bowed forward so her fringe hangs, covering her eyes.

"Ah, you must be Gwen Cooper," Mr Smith says and Ianto adjusts his stance, loops his hands casually behind his back, pressing his wrists against the gun tucked beneath his jacket. Just in case. "Martha told me about you. I respect anyone who can withstand Jack's charms."

Gwen looks up. For a moment, the surprise wipes the worry lines from her forehead. "Thank you. I suppose."

Mr Smith fumbles in his pockets, then pulls out a metal cylinder. It looks like a penlight. He walks over to Jack, presumably to test Jack's reflexes.

Ianto can't help noticing Mr Smith's wearing converse sneakers with a suit. For some reason, that detail bothers him.

"No offence to you," Mr Smith says over his shoulder, fiddling with the cylinder until it glows blue and holding it against Jack's neck. "Being able to withstand Jack's never-ending flirting is one thing. Being able to keep up with Jack, oh, that's impressive in its own right. Aha!"

Ianto's dreadfully embarrassed but he decides to take it as a good sign. Martha wouldn't gossip like this, unless she trusted Mr Smith a great deal. Even then, Ianto suspects she'd have to care for him as well to tell him such details. Perhaps this is the boyfriend they've heard about but never met.

"Hmm," Mr Smith says, changing the setting on the device, making it hum slightly. Jack's left hand raises half a foot, then slams back down to the table, open palm slapping the metal loudly.

"Is he--" Ianto stops himself before he asks a very stupid question. It's been years since Lisa, but he doesn't like seeing people he cares about stretched out on this table.

"Oh, well. Huh. Now that's-- That's interesting, that's very interesting." Mr Smith stands back, face scrunched up in thought. Then he turns to Gwen, and says, "Hold down his hands, will you? I have a feeling we're going to hit a slight amount of resistance."

"Okay," Gwen says, standing up.

"And you" Mr Smith adds, looking at Ianto and pointing to the counter behind him, "get that glass beaker over there. Bring it here."

Ianto does. Mr Smith positions it over the disc, like he's trapping a spider in a cup.

"Now hold it. Both hands please," he instructs firmly and Ianto does as he's told.

While Gwen leans over the examination table, one hand on each of Jack's wrists, Mr Smith reaches for his device again. He turns it on and this close Ianto can feel the glass vibrating under his fingers, like holding on to the steering wheel of an old car.

The hum gets lower, and Mr Smith mutters, "Oh, come on. There's no need to be stubborn."

There's a loud ricocheting _CLINK_ as the device flies off Jack's neck and hits the side of the beaker.

"There we go," Mr Smith says happily, sliding the cylinder back into his pocket. He pulls out a handkerchief, and takes the beaker out of Ianto's hands. He holds the handkerchief against Jack's neck, sliding the beaker over and then tips it up, using the cotton as a makeshift lid.

Ianto allows himself one short breath, then looks down at the table. Jack blinks and grins an impossibly wide smile. Ianto's own smile feels light as air. "Welcome back."

Gwen darts down, hugging Jack hard and burying her head against his shoulder. "Don't do that to us." She doesn't let go.

"Okay, I think I missed something," Jack says over her shoulder. He huffs, blowing a dark strand of her hair away from his mouth. "Last thing I remember, I was leaning down to pick up a coin."

"An unaugmented third generation stasis generator," Mr Smith rattles off, sounding bored and a little amused. "I'm sure that by the time you were ten, you were taught to avoid these, Jack."

"I was taught to do a lot of things as a kid," Jack replies. "Like don't talk to strangers. Don't take lifts from odd men."

John Smith gives a cheeky little grin and Jack laughs. They might as well be wearing neon signs saying, 'Were once in love' and 'Have seen each other naked'. Ianto sighs. It's so typical of Jack.

Jack says, "Besides, from what I remember? They're square."

"This one was." Mr Smith shakes the beaker, and the disc rattles inside. "It got eroded, travelling through your Rift would be my guess. The basic circuits are still intact but the command controls are lost."

Jack's expression hardens. For all his previous joking, he clearly recognises a threat. "How did you get it off?"

"Well, simple application of nano-technology, a nudge with the sonic screwdriver." Mr Smith shrugs and gives another of those cheeky grins. "And the fact that I'm brilliant."

"Staying for long?"

Mr Smith shakes his head. "Donna's back in the TARDIS. She refuses to get out until we get to an alien planet."

At the mention of the TARDIS, something clicks in Ianto's brain and he remembers his Torchwood One training, remembers the tips on identifying their greatest threat. "You're the Doctor," Ianto says carefully.

"So I am," Mr Smith -- the Doctor -- replies after a moment. "And you're Ianto Jones."

Given his years at Torchwood One, Ianto knows his response should be to question the Doctor. Ask his reasons for being on Earth, and try to gather as much information as possible. But all he can say is, "Thank you for coming."

The Doctor blinks and looks pleased. He even bounces on his toes. "Well, I'd better be off. Nice meeting you both." He nods at Gwen and turns back to Ianto, giving a funny half-shrug. He heads back up the stairs, pausing at top rung. "And Jack?

"Yes, Doctor?"

"Try to remember the things your mother told you."

***

 **Breathing In a Foreign Sky**

"You know what you need?" Jack asks and it's a rhetorical question but Ianto's had five hours sleep over the last two days and he's spent the last four hours on his feet, retconning witnesses. He's in no mood to play Jack's straight man.

So he says, "An all expenses paid holiday to Barcelona?"

Jack must hear the tetchiness in his tone because he steps forward. Then there's one wide hand warm on the small of Ianto's back and another circling Ianto's side, pulling Ianto against Jack. All Ianto wants is to close his eyes and sleep, to lean against Jack and wake up tomorrow.

"Sounds lovely," Jack says, warm and soft. "If we had the technology, I'd whisk you away in a second."

"Planes have been around for several decades."

"Oh, please. You lot haven't managed to make it to Mars yet, there's no way--" Jack pauses, clearly realising they're talking at cross-purposes. "Where did you mean?"

"The city in Spain."

"Oh. We could do that." Jack pauses, then adds, "We should. We really should do that."

There's a moment of silence, then Jack mutters under his breath, "A holiday," like it's some fantastic, exotic idea.

"But first," Ianto says, "the city power grid needs to be reset and the power fluctuation reports rewritten."

"Go to bed," Jack says softly, tugging Ianto towards Jack's office, towards the neatly made bed waiting below.

Ianto lets himself follow Jack's insistent hand and steady pressure. "The reports," he objects, but he doesn't mean it.

"I'll do them. Get some sleep."

Ianto gets into bed, stupidly grateful for the softness of pillow beneath his cheeks. Released from the effort of holding up his head, Ianto tumbles into sleep.

He doesn't think anything of Jack's comments until the next afternoon, when Jack strides into the Tourist Office with tickets and hotel reservations in hand.

"I went to a travel agent. An actual _travel agent_ ," Jack says, announcing the words carefully. Ianto already knows Jack finds the strangest things exciting. It can be a little disturbing sometimes -- the thing about photocopiers especially -- but mostly it's endearing in a slightly dorky way. "She booked in the plane tickets and hotels and transfers from the airport."

"Have you ever been on a holiday, Jack?" Ianto hears himself ask, more out of surprise than anything else.

"I've been to other places and other times and enjoyed myself completely."

"You were technically working, weren't you?"

"Yeah."

"Doesn't count." Ianto turns over the tickets in his hands. The flight's scheduled for this evening, and the return date... "We don't return for a week?"

"Gwen can handle it for a week," Jack says, leaning over the counter and smiling as winningly as he can. "The computers say it'll be quiet for the next ten days."

"Then it's going to go kablooie," Gwen says, walking into the tourist office, "so best to get some rest while you can."

"You knew?" Ianto asks, holding up the tickets.

Gwen nods. "Someone had to convince Jack here that nobody goes to Barcelona for the tours."

"Gwen says it's all about the beaches," Jack says, sounding a little distrusting.

"And the sunshine," Ianto adds. Ianto looks down -- tickets, hotel reservation, the possibility of napping through warm afternoons so close he can almost feel the sunshine on his skin -- then looks at Gwen. "Sure you're okay with this?"

Gwen gives him a big gap-toothed grin. "I'll be fine. I won't let the team burn down the Hub. I'll make them call you first."

Ianto grabs his keys and goes to fetch his coat.

"What are you doing?" Jack asks.

"I'm going to pack." Ianto smiles. "Then I'll pick you up on my way to the airport."

After the boredom of waiting at the airport and the hilarity of watching Jack eating airplane food (picking through every piece of it, closing his eyes to taste as if its gourmet instead of a serviceable snack), they get to Barcelona and it's everything Ianto remembers.

He came here on holiday one year and ended up staying three months, working in a bar at night and a dingy little café in the mornings. He spent afternoons walking around in sunshine, wearing sandals and t-shirts, feeling the sunlight soak into his bones and peel his nose bright red. He'd loved it. Then, like every other job he'd had before Torchwood, he'd got bored and left to try something new.

It's fun coming back on holiday: bright, crowded streets and long, hot beaches; tugging Jack along to the markets, declaring that if Ianto's not wearing a suit, Jack's not allowed to dress like a '40s officer. It doesn't take long to get Jack into something more appropriate. In this case, khaki knee-length shorts and a truly horrendous Hawaiian shirt that Jack had picked it out. Ianto hadn't the heart to tell him neon orange, yellow, blue and pink should not be worn so close together.

Ianto's enjoying himself. Walking through the crowds, trying out his rusty Spanish. Pointing out tacky tourist souvenirs and surprisingly pretty beadwork. Noticing the way Jack checks out his jeans every time Ianto bends over a stall to get a closer look. Knowing that for the next week, there are no emergencies, no panic, no death-defying feats -- no deaths, please -- and no need to worry.

"We should get the others something," Ianto says, standing back up and grinning at the way Jack pulls his eyes up quickly.

"Gifts?" Jack says, achieving a look of innocence that would make Shirley Temple look worldly.

"It'd be a nice thought."

"A _'we could have paid for you to come but didn't_ ' gift?" Jack asks. "Or is it a _'we're glad you're not here'_ gift?"

Ianto rolls his eyes and ignores Jack's quips. Together, they find some truly tasteless trinkets to bring back, including a collector teaspoon for the Hub kitchen. Later, they'll buy something decent to appease the team.

That's when Ianto spots a familiar face. Well, a familiar neck: long and graceful, dark skin warm against a plain white t-shirt, big floppy sunhat covering her face. He glances around him -- Jack's deep in conversation with a stallholder with wide almond eyes and dark curls, charming her hopelessly -- so Ianto disappears into the crowd, working between people to get closer to that hat.

When he gets there, he taps her on the shoulder and Martha turns around, looking surprised. She gives a squeal of delight.

"Ianto!" she says happily, throwing her arms around him. "What are you doing here?"

"Holiday." When Martha steps back, Ianto can smell alcohol. "Are you drunk?"

"I had a couple of martinis," Martha says, pinching her fingers together and trying to suggest that the martinis were designed for mice. "And then a really good banana daiquiri."

Ianto blinks at her, amazed. "It's not eleven yet."

"I'm on holiday, because of stupid Tom and his stupid parents," she grumbles. "He's visiting them."

"I can see how that would cause offence."

"His mother doesn't like me." Martha pouts, huge sunhat flopping over her ears. Ianto raises a hand to cover his smile. "She thinks women with university degrees are uppity. And whenever I visit, his dad talks about the girls he knew in Vietnam, because I'm not white so I must know them. I can't decide which one."

Ianto has no idea what she's talking about, until she holds up her hands. In her left one, there's a wide brass pendant with an emerald-green stone in the middle, hanging from a simple black strand of leather. In her right hand is a silver necklace, all flattened swirls and curving lines.

"Easy solution," Ianto says. "Get both."

"I didn't bring that much spending money."

"Then let me." Ianto pulls his wallet out of his pocket. "It's all going on the company credit card anyway."

"UNIT never lets us do that. It's all official use only and no accepting gifts," Martha says with a distracted frown. Then she glances down at her hands, smiles and leans up to kiss Ianto's cheek. "Thanks!"

The seller wraps up the green one, and Ianto helps Martha clasp the silver one behind her neck. "Tell me you're not here by yourself," Martha says worriedly, and Ianto's fairly sure that should be his line.

"No, I'm with--" He looks over his shoulder, and spots Jack talking to some guy in a pinstripe suit. Jack's greeting him with a hand on his bicep, leaning close, grinning widely and -- needless to say -- flirting like crazy.

Possibly, Ianto lets out a little groan because Martha asks, "What?"

"Jack," Ianto says, pointing. "Clearly, the pinstripe was too much to resist."

Martha laughs and says, "No, it's the Doctor," which makes Ianto pause and look at her.

"Time Lord? Enemy of Torchwood and saviour of the human race? Jack's Doctor?"

"Come on," she says, tugging his wrist even though Ianto's fairly sure he doesn't want to meet the Doctor. He doesn't want to interrupt his holiday to make small-talk with Jack's ex, but Martha ignores his lack of enthusiasm. "I'll introduce you."

When they get over there, Jack's laughing, saying, "I told you about this!"

"Look, there is no need--" Then the Doctor looks at Martha, at Ianto, and says, "And who's this?"

"Ianto Jones, sir," Ianto says, holding out his hand.

The Doctor looks at it for a moment, as if he's not sure what's expected here, and then he shrugs and gives it a quick shake. "The Doctor. Pleased to meet you. And you're here..."

"With me," Jack says.

The Doctor rolls his eyes at Jack and says, "Of course."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Well," the Doctor prevaricates, but Martha jumps in with, "It's your M.O., Jack. Of course you've already slept with the hottest person in the room."

"Then why haven't I slept with you, Martha Jones?"

"That's because I have standards," Martha says sweetly and the Doctor snorts. She glares at him. "Do you have something to say?"

"Only you humans could stand here and--"

Martha waves a hand in the Doctor's face, finger angry and pointing. "They'll be no hoity-toity human talk from you, Mister! You suggested a holiday, you promised me alien planets and one more adventure. And what do I get? Spain! I could have come here on a budget flight."

"Not my fault the conversion coil blew," the Doctor says, not sounding particularly upset.

Jack laughs. "And it's not because you run that thing on the random setting and blow it three times out of four. I've told you before--"

"Okay," the Doctor says sharply, and Jack snaps his mouth shut. Ianto's never seen that happen before (he idly wonders if he could learn the trick). "Everybody raise your hand if you come from a species that's mastered time-travel."

The Doctor lifts his hand high into the air. Jack does too.

"Now, keep your hand up if your species also mastered the art of travelling through relative dimensions in space and knows how to create a TARDIS," the Doctor finishes, and Jack lowers his hand with a shrug. The Doctor looks up into the sky, staring meaningfully at his own raised hand. "Ah, yes, that was what I thought. Just me, then."

Ianto looks from the Doctor to Jack and back again. He spots Martha doing the same.

"Because you've got to be a Time Lord to understand why a conversion coil is important."

"Yes, yes, we get the point. It's a simple piece of equipment." The Doctor's lively brown eyes narrow, and he pulls a face that's almost a sneer. "But it's not like I can buy another at the local Tesco."

"And it's not like I'd have a miniature version of a conversion coil strapped to my wrist." Jack holds his arm up, showing the leather wrist cuff and the Doctor grabs it with both hands.

"Oh, of course you would," he says, flipping open the cover.

"Exactly," Jack agrees. "I mean, you'd need to filter it--"

"--through the chameleon circuit--"

"--it won't take much of a charge, but--"

"--it would be enough to for one trip in the old girl--"

"--and it would get us to Barcelona," Jack finishes, matching the Doctor grin for grin.

They lean closer, beaming at each other, and if they kiss, Ianto will either punch the Doctor or walk off in a huff. He's still deciding which would be more appropriate when the Doctor asks, "Why Barcelona?"

"I want to show Ianto the sunsets. Plus, the markets there are fantastic. You could pick up a few spare conversion coils while we sightsee."

"Alright then. Come on." With that, the Doctor turns and walks away. Jack jogs after him.

Ianto takes a moment to watch Jack disappear into the crowd. Then he looks to Martha, who shrugs, hooks an arm in his and starts strolling down the street.

Despite the outside appearance, when Ianto steps inside it's a cavern of a room, all rusty oranges and beating reds, curling gently towards the ceiling. It makes him think of Tosh, of how much she'd love this room, the technology growing into the floors, into the walls. Everything organic, alien, and clearly meant to be like this.

"Oh, its--"

"Bigger on the inside, yes, yes. Let's state the obvious," the Doctor says offhandedly, not looking up from the console he and Jack have pried open. "Now, Jack, if you look--"

"I was going to say it's beautiful," Ianto says.

For a moment, the Doctor looks at him, smiles and says, "Yes. She is that." Then he turns to Martha, waving at Ianto like he's a nuisance. "Martha, why don't you give him a tour? Jack and I will need some time to get this working."

Martha takes him down corridor after corridor, shows him bedrooms and sitting rooms and odd combinations of the two; rooms with nothing but hangers and rows full of clothes; rooms filled with dusty telescopes and curved metal gadgets that Ianto couldn't begin to categories; and one laboratory with a sleek steel bench and glass beakers coated with dirt.

They spend some time exploring that one, hypothesising about how the Doctor used this room, if he used it at all. If it was medical or chemistry, or some form of botany, even.

Ianto's favourite room -- the last room they come across -- breaks from the warm orange colour scheme. It's all white and green and blue, shards of crystal piercing from the walls and the floor. Like a room made out of diamonds, all sharp surfaces, all straight lines. Ianto flops down to the floor, and even the floor seems the same. Like one long sheet of ice. Not cold, but hard, ungiving and beautiful.

When he looks above him, all he can see is crystal spires stretching up, and up, and up into bright light. It could be an optical illusion, or they could reach up forever. Either way, it's breathtaking.

"What is this place?" Ianto asks.

"Don't know," Martha says. "Never been here before."

"I thought you were supposed to be giving me the tour?"

"Giving someone a tour of the TARDIS, well…" She sighs and sits down beside him, still a little tipsy and uncoordinated. "It isn't so much knowing every room as knowing how to get back to the exit."

"Hmmm." Ianto nods, distracted by the low thumping hum of the engine. It sounds far away, but he can feel it vibrating through the floor like a heartbeat. It may be mere personification on Ianto's part, but to him, the ship feels alive.

"I'm going to go get another banana daiquiri," Martha says, getting slowly to her feet. "Want to come?"

"No," Ianto says, "I'm fine here."

He folds his hands under his head and lies back on the ground, stretching out, staring up at the glittering columns until he can see them etched behind his eyelids when he closes his eyes. He lies there and hears footsteps, too careful to be Martha's, too quiet to be Jack's.

Then there's a shuffling beside him.

When Ianto turns his head, he sees the Doctor sitting there, legs crossed, bright converse sneakers under each knee.

He says nothing, so Ianto asks, "What is this room?" If anyone will know, it should be the Doctor.

The Doctor shrugs, gives a half-smile and says, "I don't remember. Originally it was… meant for something."

There's a moment of silence. A part of Ianto can't help noticing that despite all the hard angles around them, their voices don't echo.

"My granddaughter used it to grow crystals," the Doctor says then, voice soft and fond. At Ianto's surprised glance, he adds, "I'm older than I look. A lot older."

Nodding, Ianto thinks of Jack. "That seems to be common these days."

"You know Jack. If someone else is doing it, he has to try it." The Doctor's voice is affectionate. There's no sting there, no rebuke at all. No criticism.

"Do you miss him?" Ianto asks. Jack's successfully avoided giving details about his time away. He only talks in the vaguest of terms, in hints and snatches about his history with the Doctor, but Ianto's good at reading between the lines.

Once, the Doctor meant the world to Jack.

"I miss everyone." The Doctor sighs and pulls a coin out of his pocket. He turns it between his fingers. "But that's not what you mean, is it?"

Ianto watches the narrow fingers, watches the coin and then realises it's not actually a coin. It's a big brass button, the old fashioned kind, the type that belongs on a greatcoat. "You should have asked him to stay," Ianto hears himself say.

"I told him if he wanted to, I wouldn't mind. He didn't want to." The Doctor's on his feet, button tucked away somewhere, fiddling with one of crystals. "Now I remember. This used to be an observatory."

The ceiling above them fades. Where there was once endless light, there's now endless darkness, space stretching out forever. There are suns burning so bright, all distant and far away -- some as tiny as stars, some as big as Ianto's fist -- all gold and orange. On the largest one, flames flare up and leap back to the surface.

There are tiny planets, hovering still and covered in swirls of brown and blue, swirls of silver almost too fine to see. There are clouds of gas, huge fogs of sparkling pink stretched across the view, shining amongst the emptiness.

It's too beautiful for words, so Ianto just stares.

"It's a high-tech window. Nothing more than that," the Doctor says, as if it makes the sight any less amazing, as if that would pop the bubble of wonder caught in Ianto's chest. "But it's impressive for the tourists."

In front of him, a sun burns, eats through hydrogen and gives out radiation and heat, light and life. From here, it's majestic, powerful and inspiring. From Earth, it would be barely a speck of light. "You should ask Jack to stay."

The Doctor doesn't say anything, so Ianto continues, "Not tell him you wouldn't mind, not make it sound as if you're doing him a favour by letting him hang around, but ask him to stay. Tell him that you miss him. Tell him that you want him here, with you. Be bold, be obvious. Make him feel wanted."

"I can't believe there isn't an easier way to break up with Jack than this?" the Doctor says, light and joking, as if it means nothing. "Surely you don't really need to fob him off on someone else?"

Ianto shakes his head but he doesn't look away from the stars. "You live in a time machine. If Jack wanted to visit me, he could still do it. If he was very careful about when he turned up, I'd barely notice he was gone."

"He'd live most of his life away from you."

Ianto looks at the Doctor then, really looks. He can see how curious the Doctor is, how surprised, how tempted. "Jack's going to live most of his life away from me anyway. It's that pesky living forever thing," Ianto says, as Jack sticks his head around the door.

"Come on, you two. We're nearly there," Jack says, and the Doctor bounces to his feet, following Jack out.

Barcelona the planet is a lot like Barcelona the city. It's full of brightly dressed people -- technically aliens but generally they're humanoid shapes -- and everybody happy, grinning, on holiday and relaxed. There are markets and stalls and beaches. The beaches have pearlescent pink-grey sand; the sea is an iridescent green reaching out to a sky so blue it's almost violet. There's sunshine -- from three separate suns -- and a trail of moons that shimmer across the sky at night.

They stay for three days. There's a restriction to parking time-travelling transport. "It's to do with the economy of currency," Jack says, but doesn't elaborate.

Ianto's favourite part is the last night, spent on a tiny little island at the north of the planet. Empty apart from a simple cottage with a big bed and a well-stocked kitchen.

Jack snatches the blanket from their bed -- a ridiculously huge contraption that could sleep about seven -- and spreads it over the pale pink sand at the beach. It's a small beach, a crescent of sand surrounded by dark green ferns, palms with thick square fronds and indigo stalks. They watch the suns set, the sky blurring like a very imaginative watercolour, and as the sky darkens, the moons slowly appear. In the dusk, they turn from vague shapes to sharp sequins linking one horizon to the other.

Jack's stretches out on his back, one arm behind his head, still naked from skinny-dipping earlier. The back of his knuckles brush Ianto's hip and he breaks the comfortable silence to say, "The Doctor asked me to stay."

Ianto doesn't look away from the sky: the bright yellow tinged moons above them, the star-studded darkness to either side. "I thought he might."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"Then you know my answer."

Ianto's not sure it's a question but he says, "Yeah, I know," because he's lying on pale pink sand, watching alien moons and he spent the afternoon lying on crystals, watching suns burn. Of course he knows what Jack would choose. Then he leans over and kisses Jack, chases silvery-gold shadows across Jack's shoulder, distracting them both from any explanations or apologies.

It is what it is, Ianto thinks. That line of reasoning got him this far, he won't question it now.

On the trip back, Ianto steps out of the console room -- leaving Jack and the Doctor kneeling beside each other, shoulder to shoulder, pulling at wires and cooing at the power cells they gently unplug and relocate -- and goes to find the observatory again. He anticipates wandering a lot of corridors, but it's the third room he comes to. Almost as if the TARDIS knew where he wanted to go. Martha's somewhere else, washing mustard-coloured goop out of her hair. (As life tends towards chaos, holidays with the Doctor tend toward adventure.)

Wherever they're going, they're not travelling fast. Ianto watches the galaxy's drift by, hugging his knees to his chest. Then material drops over his head and Ianto grabs at it, wondering if he's being attacked until he hear Jack laughing.

"I got you a souvenir."

It's a blanket, the same dark red one they'd spread out on the beach. "You stole it?" Some people take towels from hotels; of course Jack would have to do something bigger and bolder.

"I paid for it," Jack corrects. Ianto raises an eyebrow and Jack says, "Time Agency credits. Think of it as an intergalactic company credit card."

Ianto gathers up the blanket and bundles it over his lap. "Thank you. For everything," he adds quietly.

Jack stays there, standing beside him in sturdy brown leather boots and dark woollen pants that he's found somewhere on the TARDIS. Ianto doesn't look up his expression, just notices Jack's ankles at the corner of his vision and keeps staring at the suns.

"Are you okay? You've been… quiet."

Ianto nods, because he knows what Jack means. He hasn't been able to force himself into conversation. Can't quite manage to make this a cheerful, easy-going goodbye. If he opens his mouth, he might complain that he's only had Jack for three years, that it isn't fair he has to give Jack up, that he doesn't want to.

But he's seen how Jack belongs here, how Jack caresses the TARDIS like a lover, leaning against a wall and crooning to her softly. Seen Jack step out of the wooden door into a throng of alien creatures and strange smells and advanced gadgets as if he was born to it.

"We could probably talk the Doctor into taking the scenic route back. Take another trip somewhere."

It's a tempting offer, a way to keep Jack without competing against every fascinating thing the universe could offer, but Ianto knows himself well enough to understand he wouldn't be happy. "I don't belong here, Jack. It's beautiful and incredible, fantastic, but it's not home. I see amazing things come through the Rift. I don't think I could live amongst them."

Jack settles behind him on the hard crystal ground and slides hands around Ianto's ribs. Ianto lets go of his own knees, leans back into Jack's warmth.

"That's the thing about living your life on one planet, in one time," Jack says, hooking his chin over Ianto's shoulder. "You grow roots. You belong somewhere."

And you belong amongst the stars, Ianto thinks but he doesn't say it. He doesn't want it to end like this. Doesn't want Jack's last memory of him to be maudlin and miserable. So he pastes on a smile and turns to ask Jack where he wants to go next or the most wonderful place he's been, but Jack speaks first.

"That's the expression," he says, cocking his head and staring at Ianto. "Like you're trying so hard not to be unhappy. What's wrong?"

Ianto holds the back of Jack's hands and sighs. He hates this, hates having to talk about feelings. He hates sounding ridiculous and overwrought when he tries to explain, and cold or heartless when he doesn't. Lisa had understood: she'd smiled when he gushed and laughed when he tripped over his tongue, struggling to find the right words. Jack's usually too busy kissing him to really listen. For some reason, it's comforting knowing that even if he says the completely wrong thing, Jack won't take it to heart because he cares more about getting their clothes off.

But Jack's listening now and Ianto doesn't want to say the wrong thing.

Eventually, he manages, "I'll miss you." It sounds simple, but it's true.

"Huh?" Jack murmurs against his skin, mouth buried against the crook of Ianto's neck.

"While you're travelling with the Doctor," Ianto says, voice sounding surprisingly calm and unaffected, like he doesn't care at all. "I'll miss you."

Jack gets a hand on each of his shoulders, tugs Ianto round until his can look him in the face. "What are you talking about?"

"The Doctor asked you to stay and I understand, Jack, I really do. I'm not saying change your mind, or that you have to explain, but I want you to know that I'll miss you. That I'd like it if you came back and visited, you don't have to, it's not an obligation, it's just… I'll miss you."

"Ianto," Jack says softly, brushing fingers through his hair. Ianto's hoping for an 'I'll miss you too' -- not holding his breath but it would be nice to hear -- then Jack says, "I told him no."

"What?"

"When the Doctor asked," Jack says, still speaking slowly and gently, the same tone he uses to coax the TARDIS into accepting repairs, "when he asked me to stay with him, I told him no. I don't want to stay."

"But," Ianto says, waving a hand at the space above their heads, at the swirling cosmic gases reaching across the galaxies, "what about--"

"I've lived on Earth for over a century. I've seen it grow." Jack leans forward, presses a kiss to the side of Ianto's nose. It's an odd place to be kissed, but Jack's mouth has been on every inch of Ianto's skin, so it's no more ridiculous than anywhere else Jack has kissed. "I've grown roots."

"But--"

"Ianto Jones, you'd need to do a lot more than that to get rid of me. There's no way I'm letting go of you so easily."

When they land on the outside edge of Barcelona, Spain -- with the Doctor saying, "We're a few miles out but it's the right time. You can't have everything," -- Ianto notices the Doctor grin (as if everything’s fine) and feels a twinge of sympathy. So while Martha and Jack say their goodbyes and hug and laugh, Ianto steps over to the Doctor.

"I'm sorry," he says awkwardly. It doesn't sound like enough, so he adds, "I'll take good care of Jack."

The Doctor gives him a strange look, head to the side, eyebrows drawn like he's thinking very hard (or has slight indigestion). "You really are the strangest creatures," he says.

"Excuse me?"

"You humans," the Doctor says. "You form a mob and do the most horrible things, but one on one... You show such amazing devotion. Even when your tiny little minds only grasp a fraction of what's going on, you still empathise and care. It's remarkable but very strange."

Ianto isn't sure if he's being insulted or complimented.

(Years later, curled up around Jack, huddling closer for warmth and enjoying the precious few minutes before his morning alarm sounds, Ianto remembers the Doctor's words and his outlandish, patronising smile. Ianto's still not sure what to think, how to take it, but he's lived on the Rift long enough to know it's impossible to understand everything. Sometimes, the only thing to do is stare at the sky in awed wonder.)

***

 **Four Weddings and A...**

They bury an empty casket. There isn't a body -- for obvious reasons -- but according to the emails that popped onto their screens six months after Jack disappeared, he wanted a funeral. He wanted the ceremony and he wanted the team to grieve and heal.

Ianto isn't surprised that the service is small. Everyone who came has worked with Jack (even Rhys has helped them on occasion). Everyone apart from the man in the brown striped suit standing behind Martha, resting a hand on her shoulder as she watches the casket being lowered into the ground.

Ianto recognises the man's cheekbones and jaw line, the rise of forehead and the wild brown hair being flicked by the wind. Jack had sent him photos and the resemblance -- right down to the dark-rimmed glasses and bright converse sneakers -- is uncanny. The only difference is in his eyes. They look much sadder in real life.

Ianto waits until the service is completed. There are rituals that should be observed, even if the casket is a hoax.

Then he steps back, away from the team, and goes to Martha.

She blinks at him and says, "Oh, Ianto," and he steps forward to hold her. He's never been comfortable being touched by strangers, but Martha hasn't been a stranger for years.

She squeezes him hard and presses a damp kiss to his cheek. "I know it's silly, but funerals always get to me."

"If it makes you feels better," Ianto offers, his smile feeling tight, "Jack's out there somewhere, probably flirting with a species he's never met before."

She nods and then smiles. She's a better liar than Ianto thought. "That's Jack. Conquering the universe through sex and exploration."

Reaching in his inside breast pocket, Ianto pulls out the envelopes. He's had them sitting there, against his chest, since he read Jack's email. He doesn't want to give them up, but he will. "Doctor?"

The Doctor is staring out across the bright green grass of the graveyard, looking at the horizon. Ianto clears his throat but it takes Martha's gentle, "Doctor?" to stir a reaction.

"What? Yes." He turns to Ianto. "Who are you?"

"Ianto Jones, sir. Torchwood Three."

The Doctor frowns at him. "One of Jack's team?"

"Jack's--" Martha stops, looking at Ianto.

They never had a term for what was between him and Jack, never needed to discuss it. Ianto has no wish to define it now. "Jack's successor. He asked me to give you these." Ianto holds up the four envelopes. One of them is crisp and new, still white with firm, sharp corners. The other three are in various stages of aging. The oldest is yellow and thick under Ianto's fingers.

"Very well." The Doctor takes them, although he seems reluctant. "Was there anything else?"

"He said to ask you to read them," Ianto says dutifully. His hands are suddenly empty and chilled. He turns up the collar of his coat against the wind. "If you'll excuse me."

The Doctor ignores him, and Ianto ignores the pitying look Martha gives him as he returns to stand by his team.

It was shocking, losing Jack, but it didn't tear the team apart. Torchwood Three has a high turn-over (thankfully, not always due to dying young) and the most senior of them's only been here six years. For as long as they've known the Hub, Ianto's been the organiser. The one who takes calls from the Prime Minister and negotiates with UNIT, who lays down ground rules for using alien technology and signs off on their reports.

Jack led them in the field. Taught them how to shoot a gun, told them where to stand, and rescued them like an action movie hero. He was their leader, known and loved by everyone, but Ianto was their boss. Ianto was the one who reprimanded and offered ultimatums, the one who stopped arguments and forced them to act like a team.

Ianto is the one who takes them out for drinks after the wake (like Jack would take them out after a Weevil hunt) and gets everyone telling stories about the legendary and often ridiculous Captain Jack Harkness. He was the one who'd watched over them for the last six months, and made sure they didn't lose anyone else.

After they go home each night, Ianto is the one who sits in his office -- the office that used to be Jack's, before it got rearranged and subdivided into two rooms -- and completes budgeting figures, and looks over the Rift activity reports for the day Jack went missing. He knows how the Rift works, how it can drop someone any place and any time. He knows they have no chance of getting Jack back. (He refuses to think of the people the Rift spits back out, the damaged souls exiled for everyone's good. Something like that would never happen to Jack.)

He reminds himself of Jack's smile and easy-going charm, and tells himself that Jack's had months to get over them. Time to get used to the loss, to make new friends, to fall in love a dozen times. He tells himself that Jack's dancing under new stars, laughing and happy.

It helps.

It helps him get through the funeral, helps him come in the next morning and appoint a new field leader -- Jess, who's spent more time in the shooting range than Jack himself -- give them the specs for the next mission, and leave them to do their jobs while Ianto deals with paperwork. He keeps his headset on, in case they need him, but everything goes smoothly.

It lulls him into a false sense of security, and he's feeling comfortably wistful when the Doctor shows up, barging through his door. "Did you even read these?" he demands, wielding the opened letters in his right hand. "Did you?"

"Jack left them for you." He left Ianto an email and instructions; he'd typed, _'And you, Ianto Jones... I don't know the words for you._ ' The handwritten letters had only been for the Doctor. "They weren't mine to open."

"They weren't even sealed!"

"That's not the point!" Ianto hears himself yell back. "It doesn't matter that I wouldn't be caught. He didn't want me to read them."

Ianto sucks in a breath. Stands up, pushes his chair back for the excuse to duck his head, to hide his traitorously watery eyes as gathers self-control. He's had months of babysitting demanding personalities, of holding his team together while they mourned and lashed out, and he's done it without crying, without losing his temper.

There's no rational reason for him to lose it now.

He straightens his shoulders and meets the Doctor's angry glare. "I didn't read them. Did you need to know anything else?"

"Oh," the Doctor says, his anger collapsing suddenly, his voice going soft and weary. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

Ianto looks away. The gentleness of the Doctor's words, his quiet, heartfelt sympathy, hurts in a way Ianto struggles to ignore. "It wasn't your fault. There's no need to apologise."

"I... assumed. From the way you acted." The Doctor suddenly seems uncomfortable. His words are full of awkward pauses. "At the funeral, I mean. I didn't realise... how much Jack meant. To you."

"It's okay." The smile on Ianto's face is so practiced it almost feels natural. "Regardless of how I felt about Jack, he's gone and I don't need to worry. He's adaptable. He'll make the best of the situation."

The Doctor stares at him for a long time, lost in thought. Then he snaps his fingers. "I'm going to get him," he announces, suddenly bright and confident, "and bring him home."

"You can't. Jack could be anywhere. Any time. It's not possible."

"Oh, you'd be amazed how many impossible things I can do. And in this one," the Doctor waves the oldest letter under Ianto's nose. The page is unlined, mustard-coloured paper covered in faded ink, moving too fast for Ianto to read. Then the Doctor blinks, shuffles it back into the stack, and pulls out a white sheet of lined paper, and says, "Sorry, I mean this one. In this one, Jack says he's wearing a transmitter guaranteed for at least another two thousand years."

Ianto swallows. It's surprisingly frightening to let himself hope. "So?"

"So if you ignore the 47th century -- those things were a dime a dozen back then, although that's a Theurasian dime and that actually buys you a lot of anything -- and adjust the frequency scanner to allow for background radiation from time travel and the cumulative effects of two millennia of Earth's magnetic forces..." The Doctor frowns, staring at the corner of the wall. Then he looks at Ianto and says cheerily, "Be back in a minute."

Ianto's still staring as the Doctor dashes out his office door, jogging across the Hub.

Ianto stays standing there, stunned and wildly optimistic until the team returns, covered in purple goo and muttering. He shoos them down to the showers, makes Travis gather clothes for dry-cleaning while Phuong checks everyone for injuries. If he's a little off-balance, Jess is the only one who notices and all she does is raise one blonde eyebrow as she leaves that night.

Ianto spends that night at the Hub and wakes at his desk the next morning, sore and tired, keyboard imprinted on his cheek. His back objects when he tries to stretch and he feels foolish. At thirty-six, he's too old to sleep like that without feeling it for the next three days. He's too old to expect an impossible rescue mission to work.

There's a tiny part of him that whispers: maybe it did work, maybe Jack didn't want to come back.

Which would be for the best, Ianto decides, it would mean Jack had fallen in love with another time and place, with another life. Indulging in pointless fantasies, in hopes of Jack walking through his door saying his name and kissing him like a firework made of warmth and desire... It's a waste of time. It's a distraction that he doesn't need.

So he teaches himself not to look up every time someone opens his door, not to rush into the Hub every time there's a squeal of delight. He does month-end reports and reminds Travis not to use the word "Torchwood" when getting Chinese delivered (some things never change). He makes Phuong hand in the autopsy reports she's procrastinated over for the last six weeks and forces Jess to relinquish her claim on the alien massage chair and return it to the Hub. He calls Martha and Gwen occasionally, listens to their lives, their trivial complaints about marriage and simple joys of children.

When the Hub door rolls open late on a Tuesday night, he assumes it's Jess having another fight with her girlfriend, coming to the Hub to shoot at cardboard cut-outs and hover around Ianto's doorway until she blurts out a demand for sympathy and advice. Then he hears a second set of footsteps and sighs to himself, going to make sure Phuong hasn't got drunk again and decided to shock some poor bloke by showing him the pterodactyl.

He tidies up his desk first, then turns to leave and Jack's there, hands on Ianto's hips, chest pressing warm and solid against Ianto, kissing him like the last eight months were a fevered dream. Ianto knows this -- knows the smell of Jack and the taste of his mouth, the stretch of Jack's shoulders under his hands, the press of Jack's thighs against his -- but still he opens his eyes to see the proof.

"You're back," Ianto says, smile feeling like an earthquake, like a crack down to his soul, releasing joy and happiness he can't contain. "You're really back?"

Jack's answer is all in his grin. "I'm back."

"Told you I'd do it."

Ianto looks over to see the Doctor standing behind Jack, looking a little smug. At this second, Ianto would gladly organise a parade in his name. "Thank you."

"Would have done it earlier if you'd read the letters." There's a slight whine to the Doctor's tone, but the expression in his eyes -- when he looks at Jack and Jack's smile -- is fond and pleased. "If I'd known they were important to read, not just Torchwood blather, I wouldn't have put it off for so long."

Ianto's confused. "So you would have yelled at me three days after the funeral, instead of waiting a week?"

"What?"

"Linear time," Jack says gently. It takes Ianto a moment to realise he's reminding the Doctor, not trying to explain to Ianto. "For a Time Lord, he's not always great at remembering how time works for other people."

"Hey!" The Doctor almost pouts. "I brought you back. A little appreciation wouldn't go astray."

"Thank you," Ianto says again, hoping the Doctor can hear how genuinely he means it.

Jack laughs and says, "I appreciate it. Now go away so we can get naked."

"Always the way. You drop what you're doing, you come and save people, and then get shooed off," the Doctor mutters darkly as he goes. But Ianto sees him pause in the doorway, looking back for a bare instant, face full of wonder and pride.

***

 **Smile like You Mean It**

"And you doubted my piloting skills!"

The voice is triumphant, male, English and coming from the Hub. The rest of the team's already left, so Ianto pauses halfway through the budgeting reports, feels under his desk for the small blaster with the centuries-advanced technology and goes to investigate. He steps out of his office, listening.

"I never said you couldn't pilot," Ianto hears a familiar voice say. It's Jack, and something in Ianto's chest unclenches. He loosens his grip on the blaster as Jack says, "I said you tend to miss more often than not."

"I like a little chaos. I like unpredictability. Where would be the fun if you knew where you were going to land every time?"

Ianto takes one further step on the catwalk, and peers down. There's a man in a long, brown coat spinning around so fast the tail flaps by, almost like he's trying to pirouette.

"Six pm, August 23rd, 2013," the man says, coming to a sudden halt. "Just as promised."

"Actually, Ianto says, and they both look up at him, "you've overshot that by a decade."

The stranger frowns, bright eyes going wide for a moment, then narrowing. "He might be right," he says after a moment, tilting his head to the side and scratching under his chin. "It feels like the twenty-twenties. Oh well, close."

Jack gives the man a hearty slap on the back and says, "Nice piloting."

Ianto's about to chide Jack. He's supposed to be in London right now and he knows it. For the last five years, Jack has bitched about having to attend the week-long _Alien Intervention Policy_ conference and every year, he manages to find a way to show up in Cardiff for a night or two. Every year, it’s up to Ianto to get Jack back to London and sitting down at that table. Ianto would be personally flattered, but knows Jack misses the Weevil hunting at least as much as he misses the sex (possibly more).

Something stops him from speaking, though. It's subtle. At first, he's not sure. He stares at Jack, knowing there's something -- something -- that isn't right here and then it's clear. The laugh lines are slightly more pronounced, still subtle, still youthful, but there's a difference there. There's a touch of grey in the hair that hangs across Jack's forehead, catching in the light as he moves his head. There's more grey at Ianto's temples, true, but Ianto's seen photos of Jack from a hundred years ago. Ignoring the fashions and the hairstyles, Jack doesn't look any different.

But now, he looks older.

Ianto licks his lips but he doesn't know what he should ask, let alone how he should ask it. So he settles on the tried and true, "Did you need something, sir?"

Jack -- brilliant, observant Jack -- just shakes his head, looking a little sad. "I knew you'd work it out but I wanted to visit."

Ianto clambers down the steps, two at a time. He's heard Jack happy, and angry, and grieving. He knows Jack's moods from the tone of his voice. Hearing him sound so lonely almost breaks Ianto's heart.

He doesn't question his urges. He just follows his instinct, walking straight up to Jack, sliding a hand along Jack's shoulder -- still broad, still solid, still strong -- and pulls him into a quick embrace.

Jack laughs into Ianto's collar, hands firm against Ianto's back. "Really, I would have been happy just seeing you." Then Jack pulls back and kisses Ianto the way he's kissed him for years: warm and undeniably alive.

"Just as long as you don't have the need to _visit_ yourself," Ianto hears from beside him.

"You are such a prude," Jack replies. He doesn't step away from Ianto, doesn't take his hands back, but Ianto understands. Jack's always been anchored by touch. All the things that they've witnessed, all the losses and the triumphs, all the things Ianto's never had words for, he's always known that simple touch meant more to Jack. The connection of hands and skin and mouths could soothe Jack when no argument could.

He curls a hand around Jack's neck, the pulse heady and insistent beneath his thumb, and takes a moment to really look at the other man. White converse sneakers, bold blue suit, faded red shirt open over a dark tan t-shirt. Nothing that looks too extraordinary, casual and formal at the same time, loose coat over the structured layers. The type of outfit that would almost fit in anywhere but never quite mesh into the crowd.

Ianto recognises him -- the Doctor -- but his memories are hazy with time, and in person the Doctor is full of sharp details. Pale skin, medium brown hair, clean shaven. A little on the lanky side with narrow shoulders and long legs. Even while standing still, hands in his pockets, he gives the impression of being restless and ready to leave at any moment.

Lover had been Ianto's first assumption, but there's a space there between him and Jack. Something about the way he stands beside Jack but doesn't touch. Something telling in the way that Jack stays leaning into Ianto's side, hand low around Ianto's hips, as if absorbing warmth through the contact.

"I'm not letting you interfere with your own time-stream," the Doctor says after a moment. Just when the silence begins to get awkward, he adds, "You'll give me a headache."

Jack snorts in amusement. "Wouldn't want that."

"How long can you stay?" Ianto pushes Jack's hair back from his forehead. It's long, hanging almost down to his eyebrows and makes Ianto think of bad '90s haircuts. Fashions apparently don't change much. "How long has it been?"

"Jack," the Doctor says warningly and Ianto feels Jack stiffen.

"I can't tell you, Ianto. I can't tell you anything. I can't let you remember this, actually."

"I won't tell you," Ianto says.

"Nice theory, but it doesn't always work."

"You don't remember me telling you, therefore I kept my word."

Jack blinks at this piece of logic. "Yes, but--"

"Jack." This time the Doctor's voice is gentler, but still firm. "We have to go. Now."

"Doctor!"

"You're in the city. I can feel it."

"But I--" Jack frowns, memory clearly as good as ever. "Twenty-twenties. Those stupid AIP conferences. I skipped out of them every damn year, so I'm probably on my way back to the Hub right now."

Ianto doesn't want to stop touching Jack, doesn't want to break the contact, but he needs two hands. He fumbles in his pockets, fishes out his key ring, and then slides a very particular key off. It has six numbers engraved on it: 230813. He's been carrying it around for years.

"Take this," he says, closing Jack's hand around it, hoping this is when he's supposed to give it to Jack, hoping he isn't messing something up, "and go to my flat. Stay there--"

"It's a very nice idea, young man, but we really have to be going," the Doctor says, speaking through him. "Two fixed points standing together on the Rift? There's going to be bad consequences."

Ianto rolls his eyes, and turns to the Doctor to explain. "Go back in time precisely eleven years. Use the key to let yourselves into my place."

"What are you talking about?" Jack asks, and the Doctor looks just as confused.

But only for a moment. Then he snaps his fingers and says, "Oh, we've done this all before! You remember us visiting a decade ago."

"Jack stayed for almost a week. He was in Ireland at the time." Ianto frowns, realising how that sounds. "I mean, in 2013, Jack was in Ireland for three weeks."

"Tracking down Torchwood Four," Jack adds, watching Ianto with a guarded expression.

"I called in sick with chicken pox, and we didn't leave my flat," Ianto says, remembering. That first day when they only left the bed to shower and order pizza; all those hours spent naked, pressed against Jack's skin, kissing until his lips felt swollen with it. Falling asleep in Jack's arms and waking up to late morning sunshine. Curling up on the couch with bare feet and coffee, and Jack telling him about alien worlds Ianto would never see, adventures he'd never have. Describing beautiful things Jack had seen and tricks Jack had learnt (never mentioning anything specific about Ianto's life or the twenty-first century), and always keeping a hand somewhere on Ianto's skin.

Ianto remembers meeting the Doctor for a few minutes before he excused himself. He remembers how Jack's smile didn't reach his eyes until the third day.

"You never told me," Jack says softly. He doesn't sound upset, more... wistful.

"You told me not to." Ianto blinks, doesn't know what else to say. So he pulls Jack in and kisses him again. He tries to make it all the things he can't say, all the things Jack should know: that he loves Jack, always will; that whatever Jack needs, whatever it is, Ianto will find a way to give it to him.

Jack's hands stroke his face gently as he steps back. Ianto hopes he understands.

The Doctor is holding his glasses, cleaning them with a tissue. "If you're quite done, I would like to leave before we make the Rift explode."

Jack nods and looks at Ianto for a long moment. Then he shrugs. "Thank you for..."

"For?" Ianto prompts, not really expecting an answer.

"For being..." Jack shrugs again. "You. You make a lasting impression, Ianto Jones."

Ianto smiles to himself, still so easily charmed by Jack. Then he remembers something else.

"Doctor?" he calls out, and the Doctor turns. "When you hear the front door open, duck to the left."

The Doctor frowns. "I don't think you're supposed to tell me that."

"You said it was lucky that I told you. So..."

"Duck to the left," the Doctor says, nodding.

Jack gives him one last, bright grin that doesn't reach his eyes, then turns after the Doctor.

Ianto wonders how long it will take Jack -- his Jack, the one who smiles and means it -- to sneak back into the Hub. He'll use the "secret" tunnel into his office, the one Ianto alarmed years ago.

The alarm beeps in his ear a few minutes later. It's enough warning to allow Ianto to stand over the desk and keep flicking through papers calmly when Jack's arm loops around his hips. "Missed me?"

Ianto turns, catching Jack's mouth. The kiss is sloppy and a touch desperate, but Ianto needs it. Needs to taste Jack's lips, feel his grin, hold him tight. Needs to remember that the Jack under his hands is his (at least for the next few years).

Jack stays so close Ianto can feel his breath on his lips. "You did miss me," he says, and Ianto can hear his smile.

"You're going back to London," Ianto says and Jack pouts, so he adds, "First thing tomorrow morning."

Then Ianto has to kiss Jack again, just to smother Jack's delighted laughter.  



End file.
